


Glasgow

by feverbeats



Series: g series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-25
Updated: 2009-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:50:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It rains for two solid days while they're waiting for the Cup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glasgow

Shortly after Lee begins staying with George, the Quidditch Would Cup comes round again. This year, neither England nor Ireland makes it to the Cup, but Scotland does. Neither of them really considers Scotland a team worth rooting for, but Lee insists that they go, nonetheless. George suspects him of doing it to get them both out of the house, but he doesn't say as much. Words are still more difficult than they probably should be.

The Cup is held in Scotland this year, in Glasgow, and Lee forces George to agree to his booking them a hotel there two days before the match.

“The reservation is for today,” Lee says. There's no accusation in his voice, and it would be easier if there were. George knows how to deal with a good fight, or at least he used to. Maybe he's changed in ways he hasn't yet had time to figure out.

“All right,” he says, feeling a bit silly. He wonders if his family will be going to the cup. The idea of facing them again, especially _en masse_ , is a bit horrifying. Being forced out into public is probably good for him, but he doesn't quite see how.

Feeling like a stubborn child, he allows Lee to shepherd him into position with his suitcase and supplies.

“We're apparating,” Lee tells him. “D'you think you can manage that?” He still doesn't sound angry or even frustrated. In fact, he shoots George a bit of a grin.

George is prepared to say yes, but he doesn't want to get himself hurt. That comes as a welcome realization. “Could you maybe grab my arm?” he says, feeling stupider still.

This is Lee, though, and Lee doesn't give a damn how stupid George sounds. “'Course,” he says.

When the arrive at the hotel, the sky is smoky grey and piled high with clouds.

“Looks like we got here just in time,” Lee says cheerfully.

It's a really nice hotel, very tall and crooked and somehow Italian in the impressively dreary Scottish landscape. George loves it.

“How'd you afford this?” he asks, and he immediately wants to kick himself. He used to be bloody amazing at avoiding every little mention of money, but maybe staying alone for so long has made him tactless. He winces. “I mean. Forget it.”

Lee just laughs. “What, you think I didn't get work after the war, mate?”

They've only got one room, though, maybe because it's cheaper and maybe because Lee doesn't trust George on his own. That's not really fair, George thinks, because he managed all right for the few months before Lee showed up. Then again, “managed all right” is a relative term. He didn't pitch himself off the roof into Diagon Alley, at any rate.

It rains for two solid days while they're waiting for the Cup. They spend most of the day in their room, except when they have to go out for food.

Lee glances up from a useless travel brochure on the second evening and says, “Sorry about all this, anyhow.”

George frowns, not looking away from the nice floral pattern of the wallpaper. “I don't mind, Lee. I'm having a fine time.” _Considering_ , he wants to add. _A fine time, considering_. He's not going to be a downer, though, not when Lee is being so great.

He can't help thinking, though, how much Fred would have loved this. He adored Quidditch and he always wanted to travel. It would have been brilliant with the three of them here together.

Thinking Fred's name has become only marginally less painful, incidentally.

Lee sighs lightly and goes back to letting George watch the wallpaper. George decides that he's grateful for this.

That night, George lies awake, just as he did the night before. There's a tiny space under the door where light from the hall comes through, electric Muggle light, and it's keeping him awake. Then again, he'd probably be awake anyway. The light just gives him something to focus on. He watches the slant of it and thinks about his dad and how amazed he'd be by the Muggle technology.

Thinking about that, he manages to get to sleep.

The morning of the Cup dawns grey and cold and miserable, and George can't help but feel that the weather is somehow appropriate. The world's still picking itself up from the messy, short war, and if they're not reminded of this fact, they might forget. Some people, he feels sure, already have. It's an uncharitable thought, but he can't help himself.

Bitterness has never been a quality he could maintain easily, though, and the excitement of the crowd is infectious. George isn't used to feeling like the quiet one in a group, but he feels like that now, slightly cut off from all the shouting and cheer and relief. For the first time, he's out and about in the wizarding world, seeing just how many people know with absolutely certainty that all of the losses were worth it. George can't quite muster up any anger at them for it, though. He's glad someone's staying good-humored about the whole business.

They have pretty terrible seats, but George doesn't mind. It's not raining yet, and they sling a large checked blanket around themselves. Lee's knee keeps bumping George's under the blanket. _Contact_. George has missed it. He spent years fake-wrestling with Lee in school, and he's not used to being so isolated, both physically and emotionally.

Once that match kicks off, though, George forgets all of that. He even forgets how much it hurts to move, to think, to do anything at all. All he can think about is cheering and shouting and letting his knee fall against Lee's a little too often.

The match over, and Scotland defeated miserably, they make their way back to the hotel, dizzy with adrenaline. Lee slumps against George in the doorway to their room, all elbows and laugher.

“That was brilliant,” he says breathlessly.

It started to rain just as the match was finishing up, and they're both soaked to the skin now, but George doesn't care. He leans against Lee in the softly lit doorway, their weight supported by each other. “Yeah,” he agrees. His face hurts and he realizes that he's grinning, too. He shoves his sodden hair out of his eyes and blinks dimly at Lee, whose face is suddenly very close to his.

For a second, George thinks something he's miles away from ready for is going to happen, but then Lee turns away with a rough laugh and drags George into their room. “Let's stop dripping all over the hall, yeah?”

George breathes a sigh of relief and vows to forget that part of the night. It shouldn't be hard; they've each had half a bottle of firewhiskey and George is stumbling pretty badly.

When they've stripped off their wet clothes and crawled into bed, Lee whispers in the darkness, “It was a pretty okay trip, wasn't it?”

George breathes in the smell of this unfamiliar place full of rain and laughter and whispers back, “Yeah.”


End file.
